


How I Met Your Uncle

by Lucy OGara (judo_lin)



Category: The Adventures of Sinbad (Canada TV)
Genre: Cute Kids, F/M, POV Second Person, Tell me a story, disgustingly cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26420773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judo_lin/pseuds/Lucy%20OGara
Summary: How Sinbad met Uncle Dermott. Sort of.
Relationships: Maeve/Sinbad (Adventures of Sinbad)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 6





	How I Met Your Uncle

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually watched any "How I Met Your Mother," so this has nothing to do with the sitcom, I just liked the title. This story has no sex and no swearing (shocker, I know). It violates two of fanfiction.net's stupid rules (second-person and rehashes an episode) but I don't think that's an issue here. I just needed something light and sickeningly cute, and this is what happened.

No, look, okay, it's not what it seems. Did your mother put you up to this? She did, didn't she? It's okay, you can admit it. No, you're not in trouble. Why would you be in trouble? Are you ever in trouble?

Yes, I realize you're in trouble with her all the time. But with me. That's right. I'm the nice one.

No, I'm not stalling. Why would I be stalling? You just...I've got a lot of work to do, okay? Maps to consult. A course to chart. We're leaving on the morning tide. Why don't you two go and double-check the cargo? I'll give you the manifest, and you can check everything off. Make sure it's there.

No, I do not want you pestering your uncle Doubar instead of me. He's busy, too. Plus, his version won't be appropriate. You're six years old. You don't need to hear it the way he tells it.

Of course uncle Dermott was there—that's when I met him. Sort of. In a way. Like I said, it's complicated. Why don't you wait and ask him when he gets back? I don't know, maybe a couple of moons. He and Firouz and Rongar _are_ coming back, I promise. No, they have not been waylaid by anything. Not that I know of. They're just visiting Rongar's sister and her kids. We'll take you sometime, I promise, but your little brother was about to be born and we couldn't go this time. Now that he and your mother are doing well, it's time to get back to sea. Which is why I have the maps.

Okay. Okay. If I tell you, will you let me work? We'll never get anywhere if you keep yapping at me like puppies. No, no, don't shriek. I think both your brothers are napping and your mother won't be happy if you wake either of them up. Yes, I know the baby sleeps all the time, that's what they do. You two did when you were his age. I liked it. You didn't ask so many questions.

Yeah, okay, but if you want to hear this, you have to be quiet. Listen. Can you do that? Look, here's a piece of copper for whichever twin can stay quiet the longest. No, you can't hold it, it's going to sit here on the desk until one of you wins.

So. You want to know how I met your uncle Dermott. Doubar told you it was a good story, huh? He's the one who put you up to it? I see. You won't answer now. You want that coin.

Okay. It was one of our first voyages together, all of us, after Master Dim-Dim got lost: me, uncle Doubar, Rongar, Firouz, and your mother. Yes, and uncle Dermott, but he was still under a curse at the time. I didn't know he was a man, didn't know he was your mother's brother. What did I think? Yeah, go ahead and ask questions, that won't lose you the game. Just don't shriek, please. If you wake the baby we're all in trouble.

I don't know what I thought he was at that point. Just a bird, I guess. Maybe your mother's familiar. It was a long time ago, I don't really remember thinking much about him at all. I knew he was dangerous. You already know he tried to attack me the first time he saw me.

That's a good question. I don't know whether he chose to do it or your mother sicced him on me. You'll have to ask her. But not right now. I think it could have been either. Dermott didn't like me, and neither did she.

Oh, you think she still doesn't much like me sometimes? Here's a life lesson for you boys—girls can be like that. Trust me, she does. You and your brothers are proof. No, I'm not being mushy. Would I do that to you? I'm just telling the truth. If she didn't like me, we wouldn't have four little boys right now. But that's not the point, and that wasn't a question. I think you just lost the game.

You want to play again? One more. No yammering. So. It was early in our voyages together and we were all still figuring each other out. Everyone thought uncle Dermott was just a bird. Why didn't your mother tell us the truth? You'll have to ask her, but I think she was scared. Yes, I realize this is your mother we're talking about and she's not scared of anything. But she didn't know any of us, really. She knew Master Dim-Dim, but he was gone. Taken by a demon. How would you feel if you suddenly found yourself alone with strangers, no parents, no uncles, no teachers? Just your brother, and he'd been turned into a hawk by a witch's curse. Would you be scared?

No, it doesn't matter which brother was cursed. Yes, I realize you'd often be happier if the baby were a bird. I know he's loud. He'll get over it as he grows, just give him a little time. You were worse at his age, and there were two of you. Do you want to hear this story or not?

Okay then. The Nomad hit a sandbar and we were stuck. Don't give me that look. It's a little creepy how much you two look like your mother when you do that. Even the best sailors can get stuck sometimes. And the Nomad was still somewhat new to me. I didn't quite have all her quirks figured out yet. I'm master of the seven seas and you're still six years old, so no questioning my sailing skills.

Anyway, we went ashore looking for fresh water while we waited for the Nomad to clear the sandbar. No, I don't know why we can't drink salt water, but we can't. If you try, I'll tan your hides. Of course I mean it. As much as I always do. Have I ever hit either of you? I just turn you over to your mother and let her yell. That's worse. But don't drink salt water. I'm serious about that. You both got bellies full of it when you first learned to swim, and were sick for days. I know you don't remember, but I do. Ask Firouz if you really want to know why. I'm sure he could tell you.

The day was hot and Doubar was grumpy. I'd thought the island was deserted but we stumbled upon a statue garden—well, what looked like a statue garden. With a sprawling villa in the distance. At the time I thought the statues were beautiful. The work of a very gifted artist. Knowing what I know now, it's a little...sickening, to be honest. No, we'll get to that part later. You wanted a story, you're getting a story. You can't jump to the end at the beginning. Anyway, it was a statue garden. I guess. I don't know what else to call it. What's the matter? Bored by art? You like adventure better, huh? Yeah, you're my boys, all right. This story isn't full of adventure, strictly speaking, but it's the story you asked for so you'll have to deal with it.

I touched one of the statues, a beautiful woman. I regret that now, but I didn't know anything then. Your mother said she looked sad. She didn't seem too impressed with the, uh, artwork. Yeah, I know, it takes a lot to impress her. I have to constantly work at it, myself. But don't worry. She adores you boys even when she doesn't always say so. She's just the kind that doesn't hold on too tight. You'll appreciate that as you get older.

The artist appeared with a retinue of guards and servants. Said he was the owner of the villa and the statue garden. He was...affable. At least at first. I mean, as affable as a man can be when his guards are pointedly surrounding you. What's that? Affable? It means he was friendly, I guess, but only to a point. And only for a reason. I tried to introduce myself, but he only had eyes for your mother. Spoke only to her. He flattered her—called her...I can't remember exactly now, but he had a way with words, let's just say.

Jealous? Are you kidding? Me?

I was _seething_ with jealousy. Especially when she took his arm, let him lead her up to the villa. It felt like my belly had become a pit of angry vipers. The thing you have to understand, boys, is that every little boy thinks his mother's the most beautiful woman in the world. The very best. But yours actually is. The way everyone watches her when we enter a town—they don't do that with other women. And I wasn't used to it yet when this artist came and took her arm, kissed her hand, spoke sweetly to her. She smiled at him like she never smiled at me, and I had no idea how to handle that.

The artist? Yeah. His name was Vincenzo. A real smooth talker, suave and polite. I'd just spent the morning trying to get the Nomad unstuck and then tramping through near-tropical heat. I was ragged and filthy, which never bothered me before but suddenly it did. Here was this guy with a sprawling villa, a whole island to himself as far as we knew. A massively talented artist. Was he good-looking? I don't know. I never know these things. Your mother certainly seemed to think so.

What was she thinking? You'll have to ask her. I'm grateful that you boys want to stick up for me, but I don't blame her. You probably shouldn't, either. Like I said, we didn't know each other very well yet. I adored her, absolutely adored her, but I couldn't tell her so. I didn't know how. I used to be pretty good with the ladies, you know, but she wasn't like any other girl I'd ever met. She and your uncle Dermott attacked me when we first met, remember. I may have insulted her while we were fighting the demon that cursed Master Dim-Dim. And I may have swatted her rear when we were rescuing our first princess. How do you bounce back from that? Give her flowers?

No, I'm not actually asking you. What? Give her a kiss? Don't roll your eyes at me. If I had tried that back then, either she or your uncle Dermott would have gutted me. The only thing I knew to do was to try to give her her space. You know, stare at her from a distance. Look, do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?

Okay. Vincenzo said he wanted us to stay with him for a few days until the Nomad was able to clear the sandbar. I knew—we all knew—that he really only wanted your mother, but he was polite enough to the rest of us. He offered wine, women, and song, and you know how your uncle Doubar gets about that combination. There was something about the man I didn't trust, but everyone else wanted to stay so I caved. And there were also those guards surrounding us at that point. It's difficult to say no to an invitation tendered at swordpoint.

Yes, we could have tried to fight him. But other than the guards, he hadn't actually done anything to us. He was offering hospitality, which is a sacred trust. Boys, listen. You don't always fight right away. I know that's the exciting part of any story, but you won't get very far if you live your lives that way. One thing my old captain Aiden told me when I went to sea— _don't fight_. But if you must fight, win. Does that make sense? No? Don't worry about it, it will when you're older. You lost the game, by the way. Your brother gets the coin. No, no more. Now you're even. If we keep playing I'll have an empty money pouch and your mother will want to know why your pants are jingling.

As we left the statue garden, I thought I heard the strangest sound. It was as if someone were moaning or crying. It gave me a chill despite the day's heat. There was no wind, no one behind me to make the sound. I wondered if the island was haunted and I wanted to ask your mother, but she'd taken Vincenzo's arm and they were cozied up together at the front of the procession. Seeing that, I suddenly didn't care too much about the prospect of ghosts anymore.

No, there were no ghosts. I promise. We've run into them before, but you don't need to hear that story yet. I know you still get nightmares. Trust your papa when I say they won't hurt you. Ghosts are just souls who haven't found their rest yet. Don't harm them and they won't harm you. Vincenzo...was another story.

Yes, the villa was rich and fine. Not as large as the caliph's palace, but large enough! Without all the servants I would have got lost trying to get from my bed to dinner and back. When we entered, we saw he had many captive birds in cages. Not just an aviary but an entire menagerie of them. I assumed your mother would hate this—I didn't know your uncle Dermott was human, but I knew she cared for him and would never cage him. The witch Rumina caged and threatened him a little earlier in our adventures, which angered your mother so much I thought she might just best the witch. She didn't, of course—not then. It took a lot longer. But she was spitting mad, was my point. Far angrier than you've ever seen her. Yes, angrier than when your uncle Dermott helped you play that trick on her that we promised never to speak of again. No, I'm absolutely not allowed to tell you it was funny. I thought you wanted to hear about Vincenzo?

She didn't mind the caged birds. I don't know, you'll have to ask her. I thought she'd be furious, but she wasn't. She was grumpy at me, instead, for saying I didn't like Vincenzo. Which I didn't. Feel free not to like him either. He's the bad guy. And don't worry, I killed him. He's not around to bother us anymore.

Did we fight over her? I don't know, I guess so? Sort of. But it was far more than that. You're getting too far ahead again. She told me he seemed like a great person so of course I wouldn't like him. It was meant as an insult, I promise. She was very clear about that point.

We all parted to go clean up before our meal. I noticed along the way that someone was hiding and spying on me. No, it wasn't a ghost. I told you, there are no actual ghosts in this story. I only thought there were. It was a guard from the king's army, living undercover as a servant in the household. He warned me that your mother was in grave danger.

Yes, I'm getting to the part about the king. I had to fight a bit with the soldier before he would tell me anything. He was spying on me out of worry for your mother, uncertain whether I could be trusted with his secret. The tale he told me was a strange one. His king and queen had been usurped, he said, by the court artist. Vincenzo didn't actually own the villa or the island but had stolen them out from under the rightful rulers.

How did he steal them without an army? That's a very good question, son, and exactly the question I asked the soldier. Brenn, don't "duh, magic" your brother. Magic isn't always the answer; even your mother says so. Even Master Dim-Dim says so. Yes, in this case, you're correct, but making any sort of assumption about magic is asking for trouble. Listen to me—I want you boys to be as tough as you please, but never tougher than you are smart. Do you understand? Bullies are tough. Warlords are tough. But when backed into a corner, they have nothing left to draw on. I don't want that to ever be you. Don't just "yes, papa" me. This one I need you to remember. I'm tough, but I do my best to be smart. And when I fail, I have Firouz and your mother to back me up.

Yes, we can get on with the story if you promise to remember. Smart first, tough second. Always in that order. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm no good at giving lectures and you're no good at listening to them. Back to Vincenzo. Oh, right, the soldier. He told me to go to a place called the Glittering Caverns to find proof of all he said, and warned me again that your mother was in danger from Vincenzo. Specifically, from his art. I know. I know. Actually, Firouz says art can often be used as a weapon but I think he doesn't mean literally. I wouldn't want to go to battle holding a painted canvas. In this case, and maybe only this case, though, it really was a weapon. The soldier also warned me Vincenzo used his birds as spies. No, they weren't cursed like uncle Dermott, I don't think. Your mother never said so, and I assume she would have known. They were just regular birds pressed into service magically as his eyes and ears.

Vincenzo gave your mother a tour of the villa, and I invited myself along. After that warning I didn't trust him alone with her. I told you not to roll your eyes at me, of course I was jealous. I already told you so. But I was also worried. There was that crying I'd heard in the statue garden, and the warning from the soldier that she was in danger. I didn't trust Vincenzo anyway, but he'd given me no real reason not to other than just being slimy. And the thing about slimy people is, well, one person's slime is another person's...you know what? Forget that. It's a bad metaphor. Forget I even started. He was just a creep, okay? And your mother is usually very, very good at sniffing out creeps but, for whatever reason, she wasn't with this one. Ask her, not me. I was sick with jealousy, sick with worry, and then the creep goes and asks her if she'll let him sculpt her. You know, make a statue of her. Well, this seemed like a terrible idea to me, but I had no actual proof he was a bad guy. Just the word of the mysterious soldier and my own gut instinct. And the thing about my gut is, it's been wrong before. Not often. But sometimes. Just enough that, even though I trust it, I'm always wary. I couldn't tell her no. I mean, I could have tried, but I doubt she would have listened. I'm the captain but she's the boss, you know that.

We passed a statue in a corridor and your mother claimed she'd seen the woman's face before—she had appeared to her somehow, tried to speak to her. Again I assumed a ghost, just like in the garden. No, boys, I told you not to worry. No ghosts, I promise. Just a bad man who's dead now. He won't be hurting anyone ever again.

Well, that's what heroes do. They make sure people are safe. Stop the hurt, in whatever way possible. Unfortunately, that often means killing. It's not something I do lightly, and I hope you never will, either. I worry about men who no longer feel any regret at being forced to make that choice. Because killing is always a choice. Come here. Listen. I love your hair. It looks so much like your mother's. My boys. I could wish this was a perfect world for you—one where you never have to know the feeling of having killed. Never have to live with the consequences of that choice. I may be a hero, but I can't make that perfect world for you. It needs far too much fixing for me to ever win that fight. All I can do is try to prepare you. Ensure you're as strong as possible when the time comes.

Conn, don't—okay. Come here. Come sit. No, you're too big for both of you on my lap at once. You'll have to take turns. I know it's not fair, but that's part of the price of growing up. I'll still hold you while I can. Where were we?

Oh, the talking statue. Vincenzo claimed it was his wife who had recently died. I personally had my doubts, but your mother seemed to accept this. Yes, I know she always knows when you're lying, and I don't know why she didn't in this case. Maybe her instincts told her the truth but she chose not to listen. Grown-ups do that sometimes. Yes, it's dumb. We do it anyway.

I asked Vincenzo if we could see his studio. He refused. Said no one was permitted in there, no one allowed to see a piece before it was complete. It was reasonable, I guess, for an artist. I didn't really feel I could argue with him about it, anyway.

Well, of course I snuck in later! Your old papa's not about to let a mystery like that stay unsolved. I distracted the guards at the door with a well-timed crash, and after Vincenzo came out to see what all the noise was, I slipped in. It was bigger than I thought—maybe originally a reception room for the rightful king and queen, open and airy and reasonably cool despite the kiln. There were statues everywhere, which I expected. What I didn't expect was to see one that looked exactly like the soldier who had spied on me earlier in the day, the soldier who warned me your mother was in danger.

Yeah, he had been turned to stone. Made into a statue. I wasn't sure before but I knew it then. He'd tried to warn me. I snuck out the window when Vincenzo returned, scaled the wall back to my room. I spent that night awake, trying to figure out what to do. Smart before tough, remember? Uncle Doubar, Rongar, Firouz, and your mother—they all liked our host well enough, and hospitality, as I said, is a sacred trust. A host may not offer harm to a guest, nor a guest to their host. I've only ever broken that trust when the other person broke it first. Vincenzo hadn't harmed any of my people, only his own, and he had palace guards at his command. The choice to fight wasn't one I wanted to make. Not unless I had to.

I spoke to my men. They were wary but willing to listen. They agreed that we shouldn't be too hasty in making any decisions. And they all wanted me to talk to your mother myself. No one would volunteer for the job. They knew she wouldn't want to listen, and even though we hadn't sailed together very long, they knew she doesn't take well to being told she's wrong. No one would even go with me for moral support. I'm the captain, they said. It's my job to set her straight.

Listen, I adore that woman with everything I am. She's my light. No, I am not being mushy. I'm just telling you how it is. One day you'll be walking along, minding your own business, and a girl is going to knock you flat. That's just how the world works. I mean, in most cases not _literally_ knock you flat. That part's just your mother. But the thing about her is, she's stubborner than the both of you combined. Stubborner than all four of you combined. I knew trying to make her see Vincenzo was up to no good would be like trying to tame the tide. But I tried. What else could I do? She was in danger. I knew it.

But I couldn't prove it. Not to her satisfaction. She was irritated that I'd broken into Vincenzo's studio and claimed the statue I'd seen wasn't my spying soldier turned to stone but a trick of the firelight. Or maybe a real statue of the young man, sculpted honestly. But she didn't see that thing. It was hideous, mouth gaped in a howl of horror, hands raised to futilely protect himself from what was about to happen. No artist in the world would ever choose to sculpt something so horrible. And Vincenzo's villa and garden were full of statues of women, mainly, not men. Beautiful women, gracefully posed—often with a touch of sadness or sleepiness to their features. The soldier I saw in his studio just didn't fit.

I tried reasoning with her, but being reasonable was never your mother's strong suit and she didn't want to hear what I had to say. And then she said something that made me curious. She said Vincenzo appreciated something in her that I'd ignored. Of course I didn't like that at all. I never ignored her. I adored her. I had no idea what she was talking about. At the time I thought maybe she was a little bit crazy. Very female and a little bit crazy. But she wanted proof, and I didn't have any. Not without the spying soldier, and he'd been turned into a statue.

What's the matter? Sleepy? This story not exciting enough for you? Come on, time to switch places. Brenn, do you want to sit? There will be a battle, I promise. We're almost there.

Finally, I think just to get me to stop talking, your mother said that maybe it was possible I could be the tiniest bit right. She asked me what I wanted her to do. Well, that's a loaded question. Remember that, boys. That's _always_ a very dangerous question and there's almost no good answer. On top of that, Vincenzo himself came barging in at that moment. There were at least fifty things I wanted your mother to do. The top of the list? Return to the Nomad immediately. But saying that would cause a fight, and Vincenzo was fast approaching. I figured if she wanted proof that he was no good, I'd do some more snooping and find her her proof. So I told her to distract him. Keep him busy while I poked around.

Yes. Well, no. She didn't tell me I was going to get in trouble. She warned me not to. I guess it's the same thing. I told her to be careful, and I walked away. The choice to leave her there with a man I knew was dangerous—it was one of the worst decisions I've ever made in my life. It almost cost me everything.

No, I do mean everything. Absolutely everything. She was the one who eventually recovered Master Dim-Dim, so if I'd lost her to Vincenzo that day, I might never have found him again. I'm no good without her, so if I'd lost her, I would have lost myself, too. And I'd never have you boys. You and your little brothers are my world, and she's the key to all of it. I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my time, but walking away from her that day was one of the worst. I know she can usually take care of herself. That day, it just so happened she couldn't.

I rounded up my men and we went to find the Glittering Caves, as the soldier advised me to. The island was small but we had no map. I worried about your mother every moment we searched—what Vincenzo might be doing, whether I had made her wary enough of him. I worried, but the guilt hadn't set in yet. We poked around the island, and uncle Doubar taunted me continuously. Said my feelings for your mother were clouding my judgment. Of course he was right, but I couldn't tell him so. Do you ever admit to each other when you're wrong? I didn't think so.

We eventually found the caves along the shore on the far side of the island, away from the Nomad. Firouz was happy because he needed something in the rock to make his blasting powder, the stuff inside his exploding sticks. He lingered near the mouth of the cave while the rest of us went inside. We found the king and his army, all turned to statues, hidden away behind a secret door. I was elated—this was just the proof we needed. Your mother couldn't refute something like that. But in his, uh, enthusiasm, Doubar broke the mechanism that opened the door. We would have been stuck down there forever with the king and his army, except Firouz was still on the other side.

Yes, of course, that means science to the rescue. It _always_ means science to the rescue. In this case, a very explosive rescue. That door was the first thing Firouz ever blew up with his exploding sticks. Not the last, as you well know. We ran out of that cave as if Scratch himself was chasing us. We had to fill Firouz in on the way—he hadn't seen the statues, didn't know how much danger your mother was in. How much danger I'd put her in.

I knew the moment I saw the spying soldier in Vincenzo's studio that he'd been turned to stone. I'd seen the women lining his walls, knew what he was capable of. But until I saw the king and his entire army, I guess I still held out hope that maybe I was wrong. That maybe your mother was right and I'd imagined the whole thing, let my jealousy turn my mind against a man who didn't deserve it. But once I saw those men shunted away into a cave, meant to be forgotten about and left to rot like garbage, I couldn't lie to myself anymore. And that's when the guilt hit.

I told her to distract him. Told her to keep him busy. If anything happened to her, I knew it was my fault. I tried to argue with myself as we ran. Told myself she would have kept company with him anyway. She hadn't exactly agreed to model for him, not before I asked her to, but she saw no harm in the request. I told myself she would have done it anyway.

No matter how much I tried to convince myself, I didn't believe it. I was the captain. I gave the order. I was responsible.

We had some trouble getting to her. Vincenzo had turned the king's army to statues, but he had a band of guards loyal to him. No, I don't know why anyone would choose to follow a usurper. Well, I know many reasons, but none are good enough for me. These men weren't afraid, weren't blindly following whomever was strongest out of fear for their own skins. They had a mean streak, a cold streak that echoed their master's. We waved a white flag of surrender—a ruse, but they didn't know it—and they planned to kill us anyway. Laughed that we would think they'd take prisoners. We blew them up, and I'm not sorry. Maybe they were mercenaries Vincenzo lured into his employ after taking over. Maybe they originally belonged to the rightful king but were bribe-able. We'll never know. All I cared about at the time was that they were in my way. They were between me and your mother, and that's a very dangerous place for anyone to put himself.

More guards assaulted us when we reached the villa. At that point I was frantic, and furious. I just needed to know she was okay—alive and breathing, not turned to stone. That's all I wanted. I broke away from the others, headed for Vincenzo's studio. My gut told me they were there. He wanted her from the moment he saw her, wanted her for his greatest masterpiece.

Well, it took some hard fighting to reach her. And more exploding sticks to get through the door. I will always be grateful for Firouz's blasting powder no matter how many things he accidentally blows up. His invention may well have saved her life that day. May have saved me. Allowed you to live.

When I found her, it was...bad. I don't know how to describe what I felt. My world had shattered like a piece of glass. I was too late.

What's with the protest? It happens sometimes. I can't always be punctual. Oh, your mother. No, he really did turn her to stone. She was a statue. A perfect, beautiful, terrible piece of rock. I'm not lying. Have I ever lied to you? I never would, even when the truth hurts. I was too late, and he turned her to stone. Your uncle Dermott, too. They were placed together, the hawk on a pedestal near her, as close as they ever were in life.

Yes, I realize she's with us now. She's just in the cabin with your sleeping brothers. Yes, I realize she's not a statue, not made of stone. Not now. But she was. Conn, don't get upset. Come here. It's getting late. Maybe we should stop.

Don't shriek, I said. Calm down. You know she's just beyond the door. Would you even exist if she'd stayed a statue? Of course not. Come here, son. Calm down.

Well, I'm getting to that part. I promise. Turns out Vincenzo was using—no, Brenn, not magic. Not exactly, strictly speaking. Firouz says it was some form of alchemy. He'd transformed his hands in such a way that, when he put them in the fire of his kiln, they took on the ability to turn whatever he touched to stone. They were horrible looking things—gray and hard as granite, nails black as onyx. He wanted to prattle on about how proud he was of crafting them, but I didn't want to listen. I touched your mother's cold face—she looked just like herself, exactly like, and it was maybe the most terrifying thing I'd seen in my life up to that point. Rage filled me, and it wasn't even a choice anymore. Vincenzo had to die. I'd never craved anyone's death before, never wanted to spill blood as I wanted to spill his. Even now the power of that fury frightens me a little.

We fought, if you could call it that. He wasn't really a fighter—not a soldier or a warrior of any sort. But those hands of his were dangerous. Up and down his studio and then the corridors of the villa we went. I wanted to kill him. He wanted to capture me in stone. Not because he found me beautiful, but because he wanted to be able to control me. That, boys, is always how you can tell a man lives his life in fear. When he craves control over others, can't truly relate to anyone except by means of abject submission. Vincenzo said he created art, but he didn't. It was just a means of control. He knew he could never keep a woman like your mother at his side—not a real one. So he had to turn her into something else, something that couldn't ever leave.

Easy, Conn. Connor. Look at me. Do we need to open that door? Go get her? We can. She's right there, I promise. Probably feeding your new brother, considering the hour. Brennan, stop. Don't tease him. He's fine. Your mother's fine. Your uncle Dermott's fine. Isn't that what you asked about in the first place? How I met your uncle?

Well, then listen. We fought, if you could call it that, me dodging his hands, he dodging my blows. I'd lost my sword at some point, but I did what I could. I was determined to see him die. Eventually he cornered me on a balcony, a long drop to a certain death on rocks below. I improvised a weapon and I wasn't going to give up. I didn't know anything about alchemy, didn't know if what he'd done to all those people, to your mother, could be reversed, but I knew I had to stop him from causing any further harm. I told you before, that's what a hero does. Even when he's breaking inside.

Uncle Doubar pushed through the balcony door and distracted Vincenzo for a moment. A moment was all I needed. I jabbed him in the gut with my improvised spear, then flipped him over the balcony railing—a trick I learned from your mother. You know, I don't think I ever told her that was how I bested him? I should. She'd like that.

Of course he begged for mercy. Promised he'd change your mother back if I spared his life. I wasn't sure he would—wasn't sure he _could—_ but I was willing to do anything to get her back. To save her. It was my fault to begin with. I reached for his wrist, planned to pull him back over the railing, but he swiped at me with his other hand.

Well, what did you expect? He was afraid of death, afraid of plummeting to those rocks below, but he was even more afraid of being unmanned. Removed from control. Forced to do what I wanted—free your mother—and not what he wanted. He wanted to keep her forever. Keep all the people he'd turned to statues. He was never going to let them go.

Yes, I killed him. The first betrayal was his fault. The second would have been mine. I took him by the wrist and forced his hand to his face. Those perfectly terrible hands he'd crafted worked just as perfectly and just as terribly for me as they had for him—he turned instantly to stone and his statue fell away, to smash to shards on the rocks below.

No. No, I'd like to say it ended there. That all the statues turned back to people once he was dead. That's how it should have gone. I'd be much happier with this story if that's how it _did_ go. But it didn't.

I don't know. I'm sorry, son, but I know almost nothing about alchemy. That's how it works with magic—when a spellcaster dies, the spell ends. That's why your mother hunted Rumina so long, to release the curse on uncle Dermott. I don't know why alchemy is different, but it is. You can ask Firouz when he returns, if you like. I don't know what else to tell you.

We returned to Vincenzo's studio, where statues still cluttered the room, your mother and uncle Dermott posed together, beautiful and terrible. She looked...I don't know. I can't describe the look on her face, but I'll remember it for the rest of my days. I have nightmares about it still, sometimes, even when she's beside me. It wasn't a look of terror, not like the poor soldier who tried to warn me about Vincenzo. I think she maybe even looked peaceful. She had no idea what he was about to do to her, and that was the terrible part.

We argued, me and my men, about what to do. The rest of Vincenzo's guards slunk away once they learned he was dead. They had no incentive to keep fighting. I think they probably looted the villa a little on their way out, but I wasn't concerned with that. I was only concerned with getting your mother back. The others too, yes. But I'm man enough to admit my feelings were wholly selfish at that point, not altruistic at all. Not very heroic, but I won't lie to you. I just wanted her back. Wanted her to yell at me, to tell me this whole mess was my fault. To glare at me the way she does so well. No, I mean it. That's honestly what I wanted.

Uncle Doubar tried to reason with me. They all did. Tried to tell me it wasn't my fault. That she would have kept company with Vincenzo no matter what I said. If I tried to order her not to, uncle Doubar said, I may have only hardened her resolve. I don't know how right he may have been, but I know nothing they said helped. I was responsible, and I knew it. I'd let Master Dim-Dim down by deliberately putting his apprentice in harm's way. I'd let myself down by never showing her, telling her, how much I appreciated her. And I'd let her down by not protecting her. I was convinced she didn't much like me, but I was still her captain. It was my duty to keep her safe, and I'd failed that most fundamental task.

Brennan, I asked you before not to 'duh, magic' me. And as it happens, your uncle had the same idea. He said that everyone knows the only way to wake someone up from a sleeping curse is a kiss. Rongar agreed. Firouz and I argued. Firouz said this was alchemy, not magic, strictly speaking, so it was pointless to attempt to play by magical rules. I said a sleeping curse and a statue curse were not the same thing, so it wouldn't work. And that's supposed to be a true love's kiss, anyway, not just any kiss. I wasn't going for it.

Well, Rongar said it couldn't hurt to try. It wasn't like I was going to lose anything in the attempt. Uncle Doubar said she was my true love anyway, he knew it by how much we argued. But I was afraid. So afraid at that point that anything I did would potentially make the situation worse. No, I have no idea how it could have got much worse, but I was convinced it could. No matter how bad things seem, remember they can always get worse. Cairpra says that all the time—cheerfully. And she's right. I don't know, I was maybe afraid I might break her if I touched her wrong. I had no idea if she was still herself in there, if she could see or hear—feel. I was afraid that she could. I think that would be a worse fate than just being stone.

Rongar was the one who suggested it, so I blame him for what happened entirely. He lifted the statue of uncle Dermott down from its pedestal and held it out to me. Doubar agreed that was a good idea—a practice experiment. Just a bird, remember, we thought. If something bad happened, it wouldn't happen to your mother.

Believe me, I felt as dumb then as I do now telling you what happened. Rongar practically shoved the bird into my hands. He was a heavy little sucker. I remember I almost dropped him. Your mother never would have forgiven me that. I thought nothing would happen. I'd feel stupid for a few seconds and then we'd have to start coming up with new ideas. So I just sort of braced myself, closed my eyes, and did it. I kissed that statue. Right on the beak.

A heartbeat later I was covered in blood.

He shrieked. I shrieked. The little fu—sucker _bit_ me. And his beak was sharp. He flapped his way back to his pedestal, screeching at me the whole time like I'd been the one to turn him to stone. I was bleeding all over, my lip torn open. Doubar was yelling, Firouz was trying to grab hold of me to see how bad the damage was, Rongar was _laughing_ , damn him, and in the middle of that chaos, I heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

Yes, I mean your mother. What else? She grabbed me by the shoulder, yanked me around, and demanded to know what I'd done to Dermott. I was bleeding all down my front—Firouz had to sew my lip shut like the burst toe of a sock. Dermott was so offended that for the rest of the day he kept feinting at me with his head, threatening to bite again whenever I got near.

But she was alive. Flesh and blood again, not stone. I was deliriously happy. Beyond happy.

So no, I didn't kiss her awake. I kissed your uncle Dermott awake. Turns out alchemy works the same as magic and _do_ _es_ end when the alchemist dies. It just takes a little while to kick in. We didn't give it enough time. Everyone turned back to flesh, the king and queen feasted us for our heroism—which was difficult to enjoy, let me tell you, with a lip a hawk bit open—and it all turned out fine in the end. Just like I promised you it would.

No. Are you kidding me? That's your mother we're talking about. Of course she didn't marry me then. That took much, much longer. I don't remember that she even thanked me, technically, for saving her. She just kept petting that bird, crooning about her poor traumatized Dermott. That _I'd_ traumatized by kissing, let me be clear, not Vincenzo when he turned him to stone. I guess we did have something like a moment, later, when we finally returned to the Nomad. She almost-sort-of-maybe apologized for purposefully trying to make me jealous. What? Of course she was doing it on purpose, at least partially. Again, that's your mother we're talking about. You know how she gets. But I didn't care why she'd done it—not then, and not now. I was just so happy to have her back. And I guess we both learned something from it. To appreciate each other a little more. Not a bad lesson for you and your brothers to learn.

No, not the little one. Senan's too little yet, I won't push you to appreciate him until he starts, you know, doing things. But Rian is old enough to be appreciated. Don't give me that look.

So there you have it. That's the story you wanted. Are you happy now?

No, your mother didn't tell me everything once it was all over. Not for a long time. I didn't really know who and what your uncle Dermott was until she broke the curse and turned him back into a human.

Why are you complaining now? What's wrong? I told you the story you asked for. No, I realize it wasn't exactly the story of how I met your uncle. That meeting didn't happen all at once. It started when he knocked me down on the Isle of Dawn—whether he did that on his own or your mother's behest I still don't know. Go on. Go ask her. I have maps to read. A course to chart. We're leaving on the morning tide.


End file.
